Watercolors of a Valley

I curve my arms over the valley,I hold this earth in my mind’s crook:river’s depth and rising hills,houses and barns, woodlots, fields,fences criss-crossed, brook and road.

Daily I read the changes of light:now blue as the butterfly’s wing,or deeper like the gentian’s petal,or pink like the summer rose in bud,or mother of pearl, the sea shell open,or like a grey wave breaking green,or pink and blue, the larkspur spike,or under the cold of clearing sky,blue, blue, oxide of steel.

Daily I dip from the well of joya swallow or two to linger over,or in the deeper waters meetthe bitter taste that mellows.